344. '009

Whee. 2009 passed like a breeze. And through every single trivial thing that happened in our very extremely the overrated school, if I come out alive, I think I'm happy enough. There were so many things I wanted to do. Like, finish my canvas -.- paint my room walls a deeper shade of purple, finish of the designs at the corner and mostly everything to do with art.

And to Yu Hui, SORRY I DIDNT FULFILL YOUR MALAYSIAN WISH BEFORE YOU LEFT. But, I think I'm going to soon! ;)

Being pestered once again to do another long long post, I have once again put on my happy face and not nag about it. At least a little. Nobody call me jiggypuff -.-

WHEEE! Pictures of the entire year in no specific order :0

Alex's birthday ;p

Noseri seethru :p

GENEE! Haven't spoke to him in EVER.

Faris's super goober awesome sweet sixteen :)

Boo and me being Jakun (:

Toplady and Aldo Maldo.

Bryan Boo the Woo.

Turkey mania :p

Nas, Yuyu and I at ou watching The Ugly Truth ;)

Going to get my piercing done :p

Lip piercing! Ahh.. the sexx.

Reunion with the J's! Come chinese new year baybeh :)

Terengganu with the boys. Ryan being manly :p

Taman Alam with Shanon. I look skinny :p

Butterfly, swimming gala :)

Nabbers looking damn cute (:

Ian and I sneaking :o

My uber the sex piercings ;D DROOOLS.

Skyping with the twins. Miss youu.

Learning breakdancing from Arya haha (:

Primary school reunion!

The boys who hate the goat :0

Pointy thingy with dance partner ;)

Ee dorks, snort. Dug those up this year :p

Nasri OWNED by a blindfold :p

Baking with Yu Hui. Miss youu )))):

Last day out with her. Damn cute.

Huggy ):

Peter and Wei Shen -.-

Durian party at my place ;)

Shaun's new baby :p

Christmas camhoeing ;)

Ballet photoshoot! :p

Azalealealea :D

New years resolution:

1. Finish my canvas.
2. Finalize N.M.E
3. Finish the design on my wall and the paintings.
4. Pass my ballet exam
5. Fulfill Yu Hui's wish :D (can laah i think.)
6. Have fun for new years
7. Have latin classes with KCG! :D
8. Get better clothes, get a job.
9. Dont fail any of my SPM subjects
10.Don't falter. 11.Beg daddy to give me a Volkswagen Beatle/ Golf GTI
12. Don't crash the damn car.
13. Get on that plane to Paris.
14. Get 100 views on youtube?
15. WATCH DARREN SHAN WITH RACH THE DARREN SHAN BUDDY.
16. Fall in love.

(:

343. I miss you with every atom of my being.

I've tried writing songs about you.

I mean I really tried, what else could I possibly be doing at 2am with my guitar in my room and sheets and sheets of paper?

I mean, I've thought about it, let my emotions battle it out with each other.

But we're all tired and weary, and we're all waiting for the same thing.

I'm just not in the right mood, the right conversation, the right time, to do so.

I hate myself.

Meow.

342. Boredom is a sad thing.

I've been bugged to do a post, again. Now if only I'm so determined for school. It's 2 god damn weeks away and I swear, this holiday feels like it's been less than a month. Christmas food was the sex, thank god my cousin and his dad are both chefs, and his friends bake like gods. (Can you believe they are in the same region as my beloved Nando's and Japanese food?) The lamb was better than the ones in Turkey, god. Those smell like they haven't died.

I've been listening to Jason Reeves and Colbie Caillat lots. They are very the sex as well. Their songs are calming, somewhere in the same region as John Mayer, and Michael Buble when he breaks down his songs, except not so jazzy. Matt Giraud, Teddy Geiger, Ryan Cabrera, Marc Broussard, of sorts.

Anyway, since I've got time in my hands before the awesome barbeque, (ps I still don't know what to wear YUHUI WHERE ARE YOU D:) I'm going to do a post on Dookie.

Dookie.

Dookie has girl eyelashes.

His birthday is in between in 10 year best friend's and her younger sister's.

Dookie mumbles and half his brain is an aircond.

He stalks me.

:D

He likes ukuleles and think America is racist for not having the Spongebob edition ones.

Dookie is tall and is very heightist to all girls for having girl hormones.

He refuses to sing over the phone because apparently it's lower.

Dookie likes plaids, and he's jealous because I have more.

He hates dogs because one of them ate his plaid shirt.

Dookie loves Nando's and spends lots of his pocket money on it.

He loves Japanese food, but I love it more.

Dookie would never be caught dead doing this. (Sadly.)

He is a computer geek and no one knows it, not really anyway B)

He is a guitar freak, and I am jealous of his ukulele.

Dookie has red ears.

Dookie went out on a date with this man and his guitar for Christmas.

He is jealous of this fictional character's ability to play the guitar.

He likes Boys Like Girls, Fall Out Boy and All American Rejects.

Dookie can't play pool for nuts.

He can't swim for nuts (:

Dookie's always jealous of me.

He thinks calling people by their chinese names are cute. (It's not.)

Dookie has finger cancer.

http://www.ariffsuffianzainal.blogspot.com/ click click away.

Edits.

OMFGWTFROFLMFAO I almost forgot.

DOOKIE HAS BAD TYPOS.

:D

Toodleoo.

340. Just a thought.

Let's say, you just woke up, and your hair's a total mess. Streaks of dried up drool lines your shirt, and your shorts are crumpled. Your legs bear the red welts of sleeping on rumpled sheets, your eyes are puffy and full of morning star, your mouth is pouting. To summarize it all, you look like shit.

And a guy tells you, you look beautiful.

Your heart races, you smile a little. Fair enough, your teeth are clean, your lips don't crack when you smile. You'd suddenly think that the world is a brighter, more beautiful place to live in. WRONG. You know you look like shit, you've been staring at yourself for the past five minutes in the mirror, brushing your teeth, god damn it. Your hair is untamable with combs and straighteners and you smell like a pig after it's exercised and baked in the sun all morning.

It's when a guy tells you, you are beautiful that matters. Who gives a crap what you look like, cause when the lights go out, and you're sitting under the moonlight on dew covered grass, you can talk about the world and everything in it. In the dark, when you hold his hand, or place a kiss upon his cheek, or run your fingers through his hair, it doesn't matter if he's ugly as balls, or has bad teeth, or if he's shorter than you.

What matters is substance. Apearances come second to everything else. It's when you have a base to fall back on, to know that he wouldn't tell you everything's gonna be okay, to give you that spark of happiness for a single moment. To know that he wouldn't lie to make you happy temporarily, or brace you for the inevitable loss that you know you are going to feel. To know that he'll tell you the truth, not the truth the way he knows you want it to be.

Because anyone can present to you the world's most desired people. But humans, being biased, will always choose the one they love, because to them those are the best, the most beautiful or them all.

Because, blindfold, they don't look beautiful, they are.

339. It's been so long.

I haven't written in ages. I mean you could say that it's because I don't have the time. But that would just be making up silly excuses for it. Ushered by a bitch and a boy who has really bad typos, I have decided to update. (Thank me profusely, bow down to me muahaha.) I'll update the pictures of Turkey soon. But for now, I'll leave you with this (:

He holds his fingers out to hers, as if to place it upon an intangible glass door, and he smiles like everything was perfect.

She fits her palm with his, and slide her fingers between the gaps. It's a clasp, meaningless, inconsequential, insignificant, insubstantial. Nothing more than hands in each others.

His grin widens, the edges of his smile twinkling in his eyes. He looks like he's about to burst with exuberance. That's when she understood what significance it meant to him, and she tore away.

Have you ever heard a heart break?

It's the sound of a thousand cries of children who have losses, or the chanting prayers of a man being carried off to the stand. It's the sound of a woman crying because of the death of her lover, or even the gasp of a family, that moment that ceased to exist in reality when they see the gentle shake of the doctor's head.

'I'm sorry,' she says, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt, pushing back her matted fringe. She tries to wipe off the imprint of his hands upon hers, but her skin throbs with guilt.

She waits.

'It's fine.' He smiles again.

But there's something missing, that trivial joy, that frivolous elation, that spark. His eyes were utterly devoid of happiness.

And she knows that he waited a little too long to have spoken the truth, and stays hidden behind a fragile shell of a smile, and the existence of hollow, absurd words on his lips.

This is how a heart breaks in two.

(PS: Ariff, I didn't have any typos! ;D)